


Jar of Ash

by TaquetoCagy



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drug Sales, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Last City (Destiny), The Praxic Order, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26212276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaquetoCagy/pseuds/TaquetoCagy
Summary: Living her entire life between The Last City and the wilds while going undiscovered was no small feat, Phaedra knew, as did her entire family. Especially when you’re sneaking in drugs from outside the walls and practicing ancient arts humanity had thought lost centuries ago. But when more orthodox elements of the city take interest, Phaedra and the people closest to her must avoid discovery or be forced to defend themselves.
Kudos: 6





	1. A Sale

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! From here on notes will be at the end of the chapter. This was a quarantine-fueled idea and I’m still working out the kinks (and that’s why I’ll add more tags as I go) but I hope you enjoy this all the same. I do work full time so my schedule is pretty full, but I hope to have an update up once a week (fingers crossed!)

Phaedra leans the back of her shoulders against the brick of the building that made up this side of the alley wall, arms crossed, ankles crossed in front of her. She can feel the little leather bag resting against her thigh.

This assigned task wasn’t one of Phaedra’s favorites, if she was honest. She didn’t like standing in an alley basically alone for hours waiting for buyers. She didn’t like the way her earpiece sat in her ears with Magpie on the other end, yammering steadily away with Charlotte and Cyrus, the gossip trivial but at least more interesting than this. Phaedra can’t even respond lest she run off potential buyers. Magpie is purely backup anyway should something go awry, so no actual communication was to happen on this encrypted, two-way frequency other then waiting for the que that Phaedra needed assistance.

So instead, she listens in as Magpie rambles on to Charlotte and Cyrus. She kicks a rock away with the toe of her boot. She watches the orange and purple tapestries hung between the buildings flap In the breeze. She adjusts the cloth mask concealing the lower half of her face, and fidgets with her hood to keep her features and hair adequately hidden. Mostly, she waits, impatient and bored.

The sun sinks lower and plunges her further into darkness, leaving her with just the thin, flickering red-to-geeen of a neon light at the mouth of the alley. Phaedra kicks the rock again, thinking about calling it a day — a completely wasted, stupid day — when two shapes appear at the end of the alley. They take pause, looking, mumbling, shoulders hunched together in deliberation. One has reached out and taken hold of the elbow of the other. Phaedra sinks back against the wall again and waits, watches. She knows how to blend with the shadows and she’s certain they have yet to see her.

A minute ticks by as the pair converses, hushed tones not quite making it to Phaedra. She stares back, her attention focused solely on them. She notes the uncertainty radiating from the one — the hesitation, the tone of voice from words Phaedra can’t quite make out. The other straightens, tall and broad-shouldered. Certain. Confident. His companion looks meek beside him. They turn and enter the alley, one with confident strides and the other with quick, uncertain footsteps but finding confidence in the stronger presence before them.

Phaedra allows herself a smirk behind the mask, making a show of lazily cleaning her fingernails. She knows the broad shoulders and confident gait. This is a repeat customer, lovingly referred to as “beefcake” by Magpie and herself. She glances to his friend, who is in completely contrast both physically and in demeanor. Nothing says good business like being recommended, but if Beefcake hadn’t arrived with this meek little thing, she would have turned him away already.

They continue walking, just about to pass her, when she finally speaks. “Greetings, friends.” She pushes herself off the wall, stepping forward. The uncertain friend jumps hard, clearly startled. The bigger one turns to her, unphased. Used to this. He’s older than her by a handful of years, and she’s never known his name. (Never known most of their names) but he’s been to her before. Her eyes flick between the two, and she confirms that the smaller one has never been to her before.

There’s a certain finesse to selling drugs that Phaedra has learned over the years. How to spot someone you can’t trust with your wares. How to convince someone into buying to begin with. She smiles, all charisma, all business. Over the com she can already hear Magpie hushing Charlotte and Cyrus, listening in. She keeps her posture carefully relaxed. With any luck it will help calm the nerves of the newcomer.

“Great to see you!” The repeat customer beams back. To anyone not paying too much attention, it would look like he was greeting a friend. The person he has brought looks mildly confused. “Not often we see you in these parts.”

He was right, of course, though the first part was just the formalities of this exchange. Those who acted surprised by Phaedra did not get sold to. Her customers had strict lines of dialogue to follow, though she knows his addition of not seeing her around was a comment on her not liking to frequent shady allies too often.  
No, Phaedra much more preferred to sell from her stall, or from the family business. The alley was degrading and that’s exactly why she had been sent out here. She was in trouble. Again.

Phaedra doesn’t display any of that animosity, though, instead waving a hand lazily. “Sometimes we all need a change in our routine.” She says, tone even. “What brings you here?”

“Grandma said you would be down here.”

Ah, so Christa had sent him her way. She looks again to the bundle of nerves, who looks at them bewildered. Probably for the best Christa had seem them first.  
“And how is dear old granny? Did she tell you about the new pies she’s been working on?”

“Yeah, she did. They cherry sounded good.” Phaedra has done this enough times that Magpie does not have to whisper to her what the “cherry pie” was.

“Granny always has the best cherry pie.” Phaedra’s head bobbles in agreement, hand trailing down to the bag on her thigh. From it, she produces two small canisters wrapped in paper — a cherry pie recipie clearly printed on the front. They’re cold to the touch even having been stored next to her leg. “Would you like the recipe?”

The friend Beefcake has brought looks absolutely bewildered by what they’re saying, and Phaedra raises an eyebrow. “Though maybe you should ask your friend here if he has any food allergies first? I would hate for him to get sick.”

Beefcake elbows meek roughly, who mumbles an “ow” and flinches away belatedly.

“He’s fine, no allergies.” Beefcake’s voice is light and chipper. “He can hardly wait to try some.”

“Well, in that case, why don’t I give you the recipie” Phaedra holds out the canisters, keeping them carefully concealed in her palm. She presses them into the beefcake’s hand, his dwarfing her own, fingers wrapping around and concealing the canisters easily before he quickly dips them into a pocket.

“Thank you.” He beams, as friendly as a long-lost relative. “Granny said to bring you this.” His other hand presses a bag into her own, clinking lightly with the promise of Glimmer. 

“I will have to thank her.” Phaedra nods, placing the bag in her own pocket. They have a long history of sales together, and while Phaedra knows fully it’s bad to not get paid first — this one has at least been here enough times she knows she can trust his payment. “It’s getting late, no?” She asks, gesturing at the darkening sky, their faces only barely lit up by that neon. “Perhaps we can continue this visit another time?”

“We will.” He beams, and with a wave he begins to depart.

“It was nice meeting you, tell Granny I said hello.” Phaedra waves, winking at the newcomer, who nods mutely back. “Don’t be strangers now.”

Beefcake laughs, deep and hearty and genuine. “We won’t.” He grasps his friend by the shoulder and steers him out.

She watches them leave, and she can feel the weight of the glimmer bag in her pocket. Not bad for only one sale. Not bad for having a potentially new client brought to her. Too bad that means use of this alley will be strictly off limits for the next several months. She sighs and kicks another rock away. At least she’s not returning to Christa empty handed. She mumbles to Magpie that she’s heading back, and after a quick affirmation Phaedra can hear the mic click off on the other end. She removes the earpiece and stuffs it into another pocket.  
Phaedra leaves from the opposite end of the alley leaving her face covered for a few blocks before dipping down another. She removes the mask and stuffs it into a pocket and reverses the poncho she’s wearing, exposing the dark green underside to the world. She shakes out her auburn hair, finishes adjusting it, and returns to the street — looking like an average citizen of The Last City.

There’s enough light here to block out the stars, and Phaedra had always hated that. Not that it mattered, as a good chunk of the sky was blotted out by Traveler anyway, it’s wrecked underside exposed to them always. She weaves through throngs of people, busy even now that the sun has set, and makes her way back to the bazaar that she and Christa frequent. Its a cramped space with lights hanging from long wires criss-crossing above it, under tapestries of every color to keep the rain out. Little stalls line the sides of it, and between all the food vendors the air is always a little hazy and thick with the smell and promise of good food, and it was always absolutely packed.

It made for good sales at the stall Christa usually manned. It was one of the few places in the city Phaedra didn’t mind, where all of the lights and the sound and the people made sense. Markets were supposed to be busy places.

Eventually she catches herself slowing as she passes by food stalls and decides some Kefta would tide her over nicely until dinner. She happily munches on it as she zeros in on Christa’s stall.

In the center of the market, on the left side, was a stall draped in blues and purples. Bottles lined the tables set up front and bundles of herbs hung from above. A deck of cards Charlotte had painted sat on the front as well. Christa was a fortunate-teller, and had found success reading Tarot (a skill mostly lost during the Golden Age, but had made a slight comeback after the collapse) for passerby and selling potions to go along with her readings. Love potions, luck potions, curses, herbal remedies. Whatever you needed to make life go your way, she had. Including illicit things, if you knew the right way to ask.

Christa was just finishing with a customer — a middle aged woman buying a love potion, which made Phaedra roll her eyes — so she hung back, sitting on a bench within sight and finishing her Kefta before approaching.

Christa was an old woman, the valleys of her face eroded into her skin by experience and time alike. She stood, hunched a little, hands withered and wrinkled like the rest of her. She didn’t use a cane, insisting she needed no such thing, but her walking sometimes looked a little unsteady. Phaedra wasn’t quite sure how old she was, but then she wasn’t sure anyone knew outside of Christa herself. Christa had been the midwife to her mother when she was born; and as long as Phaedra could remember, Christa has looked exactly the same, and the one time a very young and very curious Phaedra had asked how old she was, The older woman had simply laughed at her.

The Kefta is long gone by the time the woman at the counter finally leaves, her potion wrapped in paper and hidden away in a bag. Christa does not hesitate in turning her attention from the woman to Phaedra from across the market, like she’s known Phaedra was lounging on the bench the entire time. 

Phaedra would wager good money that she did, so with a muted sigh she pushes herself off the bench and makes her way to the market stall.

“How did you fare?” Christa’s voice is like her gaze, even, sharp and cool. Phaedra makes a note mentally that the older woman is still upset with her.

“Only one sale today.” Phaedra hands over the bag of glimmer from Beefcake, and Christa sits down at her reading table to count the glimmer. Phaedra looks out over the market, the crowds beginning to thin, nobody looking particularly interested in their stall. The scent of food and incense hangs heavily in the air around her, and the din of tapering market noise making her feel sleepy.

“Not bad.” Christa says, running a hand over the table to push the Glimmer back into the sack. She says nothing of the Beefcake or his meek friend and soldiers on. “Not enough to complete your punishment, of course.”

Phaedra knew this, but she can’t keep the scowl off her face. “Can’t I just work back at the store to pay the old man off?”

“No.” Christa turns from Phaedra, beginning to pack up her bottles for the night. Phaedra moves to help the older woman, reaching over to grab a box and carefully store each potion so they wouldn’t break in transit. “And respect your elders, girl.”

“Yes, Christa.” Phaedra mumbles back, and the older woman continues.

“You need to learn, so you will be doing something you hate until you pay him back.”

“Yes, Christa.” Phaedra places another bottle into the box, her scowl deepening.

Phaedra flinches a little when Christa taps the top of her head with a bundle of dried herbs in her fist. “Don’t be indignant.”

Phaedra says nothing this time, schooling her expression back to neutrality and letting the silence hang between them as they pack, placing everything into the cart of the absolutely ancient little electric moped Christa uses to travel the city. “Come home, rest. Tomorrow, you’ll go back out to work on this debt some more.”

Just like that, with no more than the sound of the engine starting, Phaedra is left in the now-empty stall. With a huff, she turns on her heel and begins her walk home


	2. A Morning

Candles are the only source of light in the small room. The windows have thick curtains which are drawn closed to block out the city light. Christa’s face was illuminated in the candlelight, ominous and etched with experience and wisdom to pass on. The scent of incense hung heavily in the air. It had overwhelmed Phaedra when she had first walked in.  
“This recent transgression aside, you will lead us someday. I chose you for this purpose. I have raised you to this end. You would do well to conduct yourself in a manner befitting your position.” 

There’s a slight nod from Phaedra as she acknowledges these words, sitting on her knees at a low table in the middle of the room and across from Christa. “I understand.” 

“Good.” Christa’s response is simple, but accepting. She places several crystals on the table in front of her, each pulsing quietly with energy. Some are as long as a thumb, others only an inch or so. All have jagged edges that sparkle in the candlelight. Some seem to radiate with a soft glow, others have insides that swirl ominously. “I once overheard the Speaker - during one of his sermons outside of the Tower - speak of the Traveler and it’s Light.” She glances up to Phaedra, just to check if the young woman is still paying attention and continues with a humorless chuckle, satisfied to find Phaedra watching the swirling innards of a crystal. “He said that the Light can be found in all things. And that is true.” She taps one of the lighter crystals glowing faintly in the dim light, and snaps Phaedra’s attention to it. “But if the Light exists in all things, then so too must the Dark.” The older woman’s hand moves to grasp a dark stone, insides swirling lazily despite the sudden jostle. She lifts it into the air between herself and Phaedra with a slight shake of her fist. “There must be balance in all things, in order for us to survive. To use the Light, you must also embrace the Dark. Do you understand?” 

Wisps of incense smoke curl lazily in the space between them. “Yes, Christa.” 

Another humorless chuckle. “I’m not sure you do.” 

***

The City glimmered like a gem in the pale, pre-dawn light, and Phaedra sat on the edge of the rooftop looking out across the cityscape to admire it, and to long for the forest beyond the walls in private. The scars of the Red War still ran like deep, great wounds carved into the skyline, though every day more of it seemed a little more healed. Every day, more of the lights came back on. Every night she could see less of the stars

Phaedra sat, bundled up in warm pajamas and a thick coat to protect her against the chill of the autumn air, bare feet dangling off the edge of the building. She idly watched the lights and tracked the airships as they sailed by. She looked up at the Traveler, where she could see the light glowing faintly through the spots where the damage to its surface was heaviest. Part of her had been amazed when the Traveler had awoken. Amazed that she had felt very little, that is. Most of the city hadn’t felt much. Those who had survived the Red War and returned to the City and scrambled to make up the losses in the days after the Traveler awoke. After all, the Red War had been devastating. Maybe there just wasn’t enough time to really think about it then. 

Phaedra and the people she lived with had been lucky through the red war. This part of the city had been left relatively unscathed and they had managed to recover quite quickly in comparison to most. Much of the city was still abuzz with repair on top of general busy City life, ever moving and ever noisy. 

She had been outside the walls during the attack, and the encampment beyond the walls. To Phaedra, it was her true home, and it had given them refuge and safety during the war until it was safe to come back to the city and assess the damage done by the Cabal. The repair work when they returned had been hands on and exhausting. It was outside her normal skill set, and repair days had left her with little energy or time to think, let alone relax. As soon as the extra strain of repair work had lifted, headaches and dreams had begun to plague her. The dreams themselves were mostly nonsensical, a blur of grays and whites and blues that left her feeling sick to her stomach by the time she awoke and left her wondering if they were actually nightmares. It’s what led her to the roof most early mornings to watch the dawn, when she knew sleep was beyond her reach because her mind wouldn’t slow from the vague swirl of dreams her brain seemed to be desperately trying to process through, and pain had settled in like someone was drilling an ice pick behind her eyes. 

A gentle coo behind her turned her attention from the Skyline to the group of pigeons behind her, beady little eyes watching her expectantly. With a sigh, she twisted to grab the little sack of grain off to her side and tossed a handful to them. In the early mornings when she couldn’t sleep, the pigeons made good companions on the roof. Even if she did have to buy their affections. 

One pigeon had a band around its leg; a marker that he specifically belonged to Charlotte. She had raised him since he’d hatched, and had trained him as a carrier pigeon, as many of these pigeons had. He was invaluable to their operations, running notes back and forth between the city, and those beyond the wall. In return, they rewarded him and his flock with plenty of grain and goodies as a thank you. 

The sun began to peak over the buildings, and phaedra squinted against the morning light with a scowl. The others in her bedroom below would be awake soon, now that the day was truly beginning. 

Pushing herself up off the edge with a groan, and a stretch to try and ease the tired feeling that seems to seep down into her bones on days like this. She begins rifling through her pockets when she’s finished before glancing up to Charlotte’s pigeon with a whistle — summoning the little bird to a perch Charlotte had set up for him. She produces a small, rolled up paper from her pocket and ties it to the bird’s leg. She sends him off with little ceremony and a flourishing of wings, watching him fly until he’s almost gone, until he’s just a speck lost against the skyline. She grabs the sack of grain to return it to Charlotte and begins her descent off the roof. 

The ladder was thin, rusted in spots, but reliable. It went straight down to the little balcony that came off of her bedroom, up on the top floor of the building. She shared it with three others, Charlotte, Cyrus and Magpie, who she would be careful not to wake, a morning ritual that had become second nature at this point. Charlotte and Cyrus might go back to sleep if she did, but Magpie was loud enough to wake the whole block if she tried hard enough. Phaedra pads down the ladder, lost in thought, her head still filled with muddled, swirling images of half-forgotten dreams. Stepping off the ladder and onto the porch, she’s met with the even gaze of Cyrus, and she jumps. Hard. 

Cyrus towers over her, a solid foot between the two of them in height. He watches her with an eyebrow raised slightly, eyes inquisitive under a swath of dark hair that’s shaved on either side. He’s hovering in the doorway. 

“Can’t sleep?” Cyrus’ hands come up to speak for him, the signs practiced and fluid, wordless and elegant. 

Phaedra, still recovering from her scare, narrows her eyes at him. “You scared me!” Her signs are equally as practiced, learned alongside him so they could communicate together from a young age. Cyrus had been born without the ability to hear, and despite the doctors and medicines in the city, his parents had chosen to leave his hearing as it was. Even when he had gotten older, he had decided to stay as he was. Phaedra wasn’t entirely sure why, but hadn’t pressed the matter too hard. It wasn’t her business. 

“You’re avoiding the question.” He calls her out with a hint of a smirk that pulls at the edges of Cyrus’s mouth, and he leans against the doorframe. “Did you dream again?” 

Phaedra glares up at him for a handful of seconds, Hazel eyes locked into his blue, before she finally concedes. She knows better than to keep anything from Cyrus, the man could read her like a book. “Yes. I don’t remember much.” She pauses, her hands freezing in place. “Most of the detail always fades so fast, but the dreams always make me feel sick.” She confesses, brow furrowing as she desperately tries to remember. The fragments of this most recent dream are like trying to grasp running water. 

Cyrus’ concern is palpable. “Have you told Christa? Maybe she has an explanation. Or something to help you sleep.” 

She shakes her head in response, Auburn hair coming loose out of the collar of her coat. “No, she’s still mad at me for ruining Beck’s merchandise. We’ve barely even had my normal lessons, let alone a regular conversation. I’m in the alley until it’s paid.” 

Cyrus snorts, remembering the incident where Phaedra had accidentally torched a cart of supplies for the store at the bottom of the building. “She has every right to be mad at you and Magpie for—“

“Yeah yeah, I know.” Phaedra audibly huffs and shakes her hands, cutting him off before pushing her way past Cyrus and inside the bedroom. It’s warmer than outside, and the heat washes over her. She welcomes the change. 

The room is set up like a dorm; the little building they called home housed more than it was designed for so the four of them had crammed thin bunk beds on either side of the room to help accommodate everyone. Charlotte and Magpie shared one, and Phaedra and Cyrus shared the other. They had strung up little lights in all the corners of the room. A small desk pushed against the far wall and covered by a dark cloth was littered with various crystals, herbs, and incense. Wordlessly, Phaedra moved to the table to replace the incense in either holder; one light, and one dark, and lit them both. Cyrus watched, moving to hover over her shoulder, but was still as she cleared away ash and busied herself with getting ready for the day. 

Cyrus watches her, concerned, and lets her carry on for several minutes before finally reaching out to tap her shoulder to regain her attention. “You’ll have it paid off soon. Ether sells well enough, and it’s expensive.” His expression was gentler than it had been a moment ago. He’s trying to reassure her, trying to get her to relax, even if it’s just a little. 

“I hope you’re right.” Phaedra signs, hands breaking away a little prematurely to stifle a yawn. Behind Cyrus, she can hear the other two beginning to stir in their beds. “Everyone else will be awake soon.” 

Cyrus only nods his response, reaching up to grab the clothes he’d already picked out for the day off of his bed before silently exiting the room, likely hoping to get in the shower before people start to jockey for control of it. Phaedra takes the moment of privacy to get dressed for the day, dressing quietly before running a brush through her hair and pinning most of her hair back with a black headband. She peers into the small communal mirror hung on the wall, hazel eyes squinting at her reflection for a moment before she decides she’s satisfied. She glances over her shoulder to Charlotte and Magpie. Charlotte is a barely visible lump under her blankets in her top bunk. On the lower, Magpie has completely starfished across her mattress, blankets a tangled mess and one leg off the side. They’ll be awake soon, but Phaedra does her best to make as little noise as she exits. 

The building had been renovated before Phaedra’s birth, but it’s age still showed through in the creaking of the floor beneath her feet. The lower level of the building housed their shop, which Beck ran, selling metaphysical items that had been popular pre-golden age and had made a comeback since the collapse. The market stall Christa ran was a satellite of that business; traveling around the city and pulling extra revenue where possible. Both fronted the drug business they ran behind the scenes. 

The upper part of the building housed most of the people Phaedra knew. It housed almost all the people she interacted with outside of her customers, housed most of the people she loved. Housed those she considered her family.

The group was small, and tight knit. Families that had been banded and stitched together long before Phaedra’s birth. They took turns going between the City and their small encampment outside the walls, where they would gather things to bring back and sell, where they would barter for the Ether that was their real money-maker, where they could live free outside of the walls. Phaedra’s heart ached for the wilds when she was here. The city was always busy and full of life, which she appreciated, but it always felt a little stifling. Like at any moment it could collapse around and suffocate her. They’d already been in the city well over two months this time to wait out the winter, but that meant they’d be going back soon. Phaedra took some solace in that. 

She makes her way down a set of stairs and into the kitchen, immediately rifling through a cabinet to search for energy bars. (Cyrus and Beck both had an obsession with the Crucible broadcasts, and as such kept the house stocked with Shaxx’s brand.) She stuffs a few in her pockets so she won’t go hungry while standing in whatever Traveler-forsaken hole in the city Christa decides she’ll be selling in today. It’s early enough that she can hear soft voices and the stirring of bodies in some of the rooms, but the communal areas of the building remained empty, and she wants to clear out before people begin to flood the kitchen. 

The upper two levels of the building were all housing; rooms for families and little clusters of friends not unlike Phaedra, Cyrus, Charlotte and Magpie and made up most of the top floor. Larger community areas were for eating, cooking, bathing and socializing dominated most of the second floor. She descends again before anyone can come out of their room and try to strike up a conversation with her this early. She’s in no mood for it between the spitting headache and her lack of sleep, so she moves swiftly down the stairs. 

The bottom floor is the Shop. Beck had been running it for years now, the middle aged man sitting behind the counter even this early, reading a book through thin-rimmed glasses. His brown hair had a touch of gray in the front and he kept it short and slicked back. An old fashioned analog watch — an antique from who-knows-how-long-ago — sat on his left wrist, ticking dutifully away as he peered over the book at Phaedra, eyes the same shade of gray that streaked through his hair. 

The shop itself is beautiful, one wall lined with books and teas and a small space to drink and read prospective book choices. The shop was dim and lit with various hanging lanterns and candles. Across the ceiling Beck had strung up cloth of various reds and purples. The same Insense from Phaedra’s lessons with Chris’s burned nearby, but the sent is much lighter in the larger space. Shelves were dominated by crystals and candles and all sorts of trinkets, ready for sale. Behind the counter Beck hid his most revenue making items, however. All manner of drugs, including the perpetually chilly canisters of “Cherry Pie” Phaedra had sold the day before. All you had to do was know how to ask. 

“Phaedra.” Beck greets her with a mild expression, closing the book after making it with a ribbon. “Up early again, I see.” 

It takes every available ounce of self control for Phaedra to keep the scoff she wants to release inside of her. “Until my debt is paid.” She responds stiffly, jamming her hands into her pockets. Other than her roommate’s, she had yet to tell anyone of her dreams (the real source of her early rising) and immediately launches into changing the subject. “You know for what it’s worth, I am sorry. About the wares for the shop.” 

Beck barks a laugh, sharp and quick. “Oh, I know.” He raises from his chair behind the desk and places the book down on it as he moves forward toward Phaedra. “And admittedly if it wasn’t my goods you had managed to torch, I would find it amusing. As it stands Christa insists you pay me back, which is understandable. As our next leader, you should be expected to conduct yourself with some amount of decorum.” He pauses, looking the young woman over. “But of course, that’s assuming you had any to begin with.” His tone is light, as if to tease, but Phaedra glowers back up at him anyway.

“Couldn’t you just say ‘apology accepted’ and let this all be done with?” 

“There’s no fun in that.” 

Behind him, the stairs creak and it catches both of their attention and causes Phaedra’s reaction to fizzle. 

Christa descends slowly, using the rail to keep herself steady as she navigates down the narrow steps. Beck moves closer to the stairs to assist her, but a pointed look sends him a step back. Christa, as old and withered as she was, would accept help from no one. 

“Good morning, Christa.” Phaedra greets the elder with an inclination of her head. Christa simply blinks at her, expression neutral. 

“I want one more day in the same alley before I move you. Charlotte will be in your earpiece today.” 

Phaedra’s head dips again, no indication of her early indignation. Beck wordlessly reaches for the satchel on his desk that was already stocked with her wares for the day as Christa passes off the earpiece to Phaedra. 

“May your endeavors be prosperous.” Charlotte chuckles as Phaedra readies herself, finishing attaching the satchel and pushing her hair back into her hood before inserting the earpiece. She taps it to turn it on and is immediately met with the high soprano of Charlotte’s voice on the other end. “Connection successful! Hello, Phaedra!” 

“I will meet you at the market when it gets dark.” Phaedra steps by Christa with a wave to head for the door, ignoring Beck altogether. 

She stepped into the golden dawn, and immediately headed into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer than I thought it would and I’m not happy with it, but we’ll be on to more fun things next chapter. 
> 
> It’s been so long since I’ve written anything I’m feeling really rusty and out of my element, so apologies in advance!


End file.
